


Souls of Flames

by aspiringenjolras



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Eventual Athelstan/Ragnar, Gen, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Plus Floki being a asshole, Ragnar has jealousy issues, Soulmate Tattoos, Soulmates, Unhappy Ending, VERY eventual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1571039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiringenjolras/pseuds/aspiringenjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of <a href="http://kylescatliffe.tumblr.com/post/84746645883/soulmate-au-ragnar-has-dont-kill-me-in-neat">this</a> post on tumblr. By the choice of the gods, the first words spoken to you by your soulmate come tattooed on your body at birth. It is an old ritual, and not one that can be broken by any means. And yet when Ragnar Lothbrok finds the trembling Athelstan ("Don't kill me!") he is less than pleased ("You speak our language? How do you speak our language?"). But the gods work in mysterious ways, and usually for the better. *****THE EPILOGUE HAS SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 EPISODE 6*****</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ragnar Lothbrok couldn’t remember the first time he took note of the tattoo on the underside of his wrist. It had always been there, and wasn’t anything he particularly cared or thought about too much. It was small, only three words, and when he bothered to consider it, he could’ve been worse off. He knew other boys whose tattoos said something like 

“How did the raid go? How many did you kill?” and “I want to do so many things to you”, and the girls usually had something along the lines of “let’s have sex” or “don’t interfere” in unhelpful locations. 

His tattoo, at least, wasn’t entirely embarrassing to look at. And yet, when Ragnar was old enough to understood what it meant, he knew he was screwed. Because anyone whose first words to him were “Don’t kill me” definitely wasn’t going to be his soulmate, unbreakable bond or not.

When Ragnar and Lagertha met, they both tried to hide their disappointment that their love couldn’t last, because neither was each other’s soulmate. Secretly, Ragnar hoped that it was wrong, and that he had managed to break the bond between him and whatever strange person who would be at his mercy in the future.

 

It took Athelstan a long time to learn what his tattoo even translated to. His parents, who always knew that their son was going to be a monk, had no interest in the soulmate of their son. For them, it was a blessing that it was written in a language they didn’t recognize. The less Athelstan had to think about a future other than the brotherhood, the better.

As they ordered, he kept his tattoo firmly covered, telling anyone that asked that it was in an unfortunate place that he would rather not uncover, and couldn’t they stop talking about it because it didn’t matter anyway. And when he was old enough to join the brotherhood, Athelstan threw all his attention into that, his tattoo slipping from mind. It wasn’t until one of the older brothers saw his uncovered chest when he was changing in the evening that he even thought about it. 

“Do you know what that means?” Brother Ernoldus had asked, to which Athelstan had replied no, he didn’t. He didn’t even know what language it was in. And Brother Ernoldus, who had been Well Educated, told him in a bored tone that it was Norse, a language from the East, spoken by men who existed only in the stories they had been told as children. And when Athelstan went to sleep that night, the same two questions spun through his mind.

“You speak our language? How do you speak our language?” 

And thus began Athelstan’s dream to travel the world and learn this mysterious Norse language that was only a tale, and perhaps to meet his forbidden soulmate. 

 

Safe to say, neither Athelstan nor Ragnor expected things to work out exactly the way they did. On all of Athelstan’s journeys east, he never met the one who spoke the words written across his chest, although by the time he returned to England for what would be his last time, he was fluent, and had met hundreds of people, all under the disguise as a man simply wishing to convert them to Christianity. What he wanted in reality, was a horrible sin. And he didn’t regret it.

For Athelstan, the attack was a turning point. From the minute he heard the shouts of the men storming into the village, he knew. This was it. 

For Ragnar, it was just another raid. There was nothing knew about killing people, and them begging for mercy. And he had all but forgotten about the tattoo on his wrist. But when he pulled the trembling Christian boy from behind an altar, and heard the words he uttered, his arm froze and his spear clattered to the ground. Almost unwillingly, Ragnar’s eyes flew to the same wrist, and read the words there: Don’t kill me. 

And that was what the boy had said. Ragnar’s jaw dropped, and it would’ve been comical had he not been both furious and stunned. He thought of a million replies to that, the main one being to pick up his spear and stab the bastard, because that would solve his problem easily. And yet something was stopping him. So instead, in a voice more flustered than he would’ve liked, Ragnar asked, “You speak our language? How do you speak our language?”

And rather than answering, the boy on the ground looked up at him, but not in terror. His eyes were wide, but he was relaxing, the color flooding back into his pale cheeks. Moving slowly, the boy pulled aside his robe to reveal the same two questions scrawled there. And Ragnar understood.  
For a moment he went back to considering killing the boy, but instead he reached out his arm, offering it to him bluntly. The boy took his hand almost immediately and scrambled to his feet. However, instead of pulling back, he slowly turned over Ragnar’s wrist to read the words there. His words. “I…” the boy said in a hushed voice. “This shouldn’t be.” He sounded terrified, but more than that, he sounded intrigued. Ragnar had no time or patience for either one of those.

“What’s your name?” he asked, an annoyed tone creeping into his voice.

“A-Athelstan,” the boy muttered back. 

“Well then! You and me both, Athelstan.” Ragnar grabbed him by arm and practically dragged him out of the room. As he walked out, he glanced at the the cross still hanging on the wall. Someone’s gods, if not his, then Athelstans, had a sure lot of explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was based off of a post I made about the soulmate AU thing on tumblr. This is my first fic for Vikings, and I just started the show two days ago. Safe to say, I'm hooked, but characterization may still be spotty. Come find me on [tumblr](http://kylescatliffe.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ragnar grapples with his infatuation with Athelstan, and the young monk wonders why he can't get those blue eyes out of his mind.

It was nightfall by the time they arrived at the place Athelstan could only imagine was the Norsemen’s camp. His hands were bound by someone whose face he could not see, and he was pushed to his knees. Someone else grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to look up at his captor. Blue eyes met blue eyes and Athelstan realized that he was staring at the man from before. His… soulmate. Face flushing, he tried to look away, but the man was persistent. 

“Eyes on me, Athelstan,” he said in a low voice. Athelstan shivered, barely registering that the Norseman had used his name. He certainly hadn’t been expecting it. Mutely, he nodded, unsure of any other option. Athelstan hadn’t spent much time looking in a mirror, but he was certain that this man’s eyes were a brighter blue than his. They were quite pretty eyes… which was a thought he shouldn’t be having. “Now,” the Norseman said. “My name is Ragnar Lothbrok. I’m in charge here, which means that no harm will come to come to you while we are on these shores. However,” he added solemnly, “When we return, I cannot guarantee your safety. It will be out of my hands.” Athelstan only blinked, trying to keep the mixture of fear and confusion out of his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I do not understand,” he said quietly, bowing his head. “Do you mean to say that when you leave this place, I will be coming with you? Because I’m afraid I cannot. I must remain here with the Brothers, to continue serving God. I cannot go with you.” No matter how tempting it may be.

Ragnar simply grinned and shook his head, eyes (beautiful, blue eyes) flashing. “It is not a matter of choice, boy,” he says, and Athelstan cannot stop the strange feeling of disappointment when Ragnar no longer uses his name. “This has nothing to do with the soulmate nonsense the gods have decided. “You, and all the other Christians are our captives, and you will all be returning with us home as slaves.” Athelstan looks up again in horror, pulling back away from Ragnar. However, the Norseman only laughed jovially. “Do not worry, Athelstan,” he said, and there, he was using his name again, and the young monk felt better, though he wished he didn’t. “In my household you will not suffer. In another perhaps, but I will do everything in my power to keep you for myself. I want to see what comes of this.” And as much as he hated to admit it, Athelstan did too.

 

Night fell, and Ragnar wasn’t sleeping. It wasn’t right, he told himself, to be this infatuated with the boy. For as long as he could remember, he had promised himself that he would never care for his gods-given soulmate, if they were so weak. And the boy- Athelstan, he kept reminding himself- was just that. And yet he wanted to know more about him, and above all, he was curious about how Athelstan was to be his soulmate. Ragnar was plenty happy with Lagertha, they were in love, and he intended it to stay that way. And yet they both knew from the start that the gods hadn’t destined them to be together. And now that he had met Athelstan, Ragnar knew that it was one step closer to reality. And he hated it.

He longed to seek the advice of his friends, or perhaps Rollo, but he knew what his brother would say. Floki would only laugh at him, and the others… who knew what they would think. Lagertha would be understanding, of course, but this was neither a conversation he wanted to have with her, nor could he. She was at home on the farm with Bjorn and Gyda, happy. Ragnar tried to convince himself that he needn’t worry about the boy. He would surely be a burden; obviously he wouldn’t be going with them willingly. He’d be no good for doing work, and Ragnar tried to use this logic to resent Athelstan. And yet he couldn’t. The boy’s innocent expression and wide eyes kept flashing to mind, no matter how much he tried to stop it. Ragnar drove his axe into the ground and stood, expression darkening as he looked around. 

All around the camp, the others were sleeping. He had brushed off all their offers to take the watch, saying that he would be getting no sleep that night, and that he was happy to keep an eye on everything. The green forest was still, save for the curl of smoke rising from the fire that had only died out minutes before. Running a hand over the top of his head, Ragnar paced along the edges of the camp, staring out into the black forest. 

A quiet voice tore Ragnar from his thoughts. “Can’t sleep?” He whirled around, axe raised, lowering it only when he realized who had spoken. 

“I’m on watch,” he told Athelstan stiffly, but before he realized fully what he was doing, he had walked over to the pen set up, where the boy was leaning against a tree with his hands tied. Around him, the others they had captured were in similar positions, some sitting and others lying down, but all seemingly asleep. He sat down, crossing his legs, and beckoned Athelstan over to him. “Come. Sit by me.” The boy looked at him warily, but got to his feet and moved slowly, weaving around his resting companions, careful not to disturb them. He settled himself in the grass on the other side of the pen, facing Ragnar. “Don’t try anything,” the Norseman said, and untied the rope binding Athelstan’s hands. The boy blinked at him once, but didn’t make any attempt to escape. He simply sat rubbing his wrists, which granted, did look red and sore. Not that Ragnar cared.

“Can I see?” Athelstan asked softly, eyes never leaving Ragnar’s. He didn’t have to ask what the boy was talking about. He nodded and held out his his arm, letting Athelstan examine it, finger tracing the words written there, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His lips pressed into a thin line, brows knitting together, and his eyes were cast to the ground.

“Does it bother you, boy?” Ragnar asked, and when after a second’s pause, Athelstan nodded, he allowed a small look of concern to escape him. “Why? Surely you were looking forward to the day you met the one the gods have destined you to be with.” He spoke the last words with such venom that Athelstan looked startled.

“I do not worship your Pagan gods,” he mumbled in reply. “And the way I worship my Christian God forbids me to do… this. So no,” he finished. “On the contrary, I’ve been dreading it.” 

Ragnar’s eyes widened slightly, and he contemplated this. It didn’t particularly make sense to him, this law of abstinence. Who was this Christian god who did not allow marriage or love or sex, whatever it was? Athelstan seemed to sense his confusion, for his lips turned upward slightly, the first hint of a smile Ragnar had seem from him. “I am a monk,” he explained. “A type of priest, for my God and my religion. We are not allowed to marry, nor to lie with another man or woman. Our lives must be devoted to God, and only God. For this reason,” he added, and Ragnar could almost make out a held back laugh, “This soulmate business is entirely inconvenient.”

“Don’t you get tired of it?” Ragnar asked, because gods knew he would, and very quickly. “I mean, sex is a great thing. Do you mean to say you never have? And never will?” Athelstan’s face flushed, and he nodded, looking very embarrassed. Ragnar persisted. “And if you are not allowed to do so, then why does your God grant you these markings?” He reached forward, grabbing Athelstan by his robe, and pulling it so the side so that he could read it again, although he knew very well what it said. “Your religion is strange, boy.”

Ragnar released Athelstan, and he took a few deep breaths, still shaking. “Everyone is born with them,” he pointed out, and it seemed that he was fighting to keep his voice from quivering. If the boy was scared, then that was a good thing. “Everyone’s gods have their own rules. For most Christians, it is not a problem. Those who do not practice our religion in the ways of priests are not subject to the same laws of abstinence. But those of us who do… it is God’s wish. We believe it is our destiny to walk this path, and struggle along it. To be faced with the temptation and look it in the eye and say ‘no’. That is what I am destined to do.”

Athelstan fell silent, and after a few minutes, Ragnar looked over at him. The boy had fallen asleep, and he looked much more happy in rest than he had awake. Rather than returning to the fire, he too closed his eyes, leaning back against the tree. Opening one eye, he looked at the boy’s peaceful expression and whispered, “Perhaps it is not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'm going to try my best to keep on continuing this story, but I can't make any promises. I have no real plot, so any one who has ideas is welcome to let me know. I am also going to try and determine a regular updating schedule, but until then, updates will simply occur when I have finished the next chapter.
> 
> This chapter has not been beta-ed. 
> 
> Leave me a comment, or come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.kylescatliffe.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athelstan's first encounter with Floki could've gone better.

It was only a day or so later that they began loading the ships for the journey to Kattegat, as Athelstan had been told was the name of the village, but for him it felt much longer. The morning after his conversation with Ragnar, he tried to act as normal as possible, but the rest of the Brothers took note of his unbound wrists, and shot him looks of fury when they thought he couldn’t see. Athelstan asked himself why it had to be him, and why Ragnar wasn’t just killing him, and what the others thought he was supposed to do about it. He had hoped that he at least would have his friends to take comfort in, but it was beginning to look like that would not be the case. 

The ships began leaving the shore, and Athelstan was immediately grateful that he was not one to get seasick. It hadn’t been easy, his first few times, but after many journeys as a missionary, he had learned how to ignore the queasiness in his stomach and keep his lunch down. The Brothers were not so lucky. They huddled together in the back of the ship, wrists bound and eyes wide. When the sea caused their stomachs to lurch, they would leap to their feet and run for the side of the boat. Usually they wouldn’t make it. Other times, the force of the waves would send them flying over the edge and into the water. Most of the time no one tried to help them, and when they did, they would get pulled over into the freezing water too. Athelstan covered his ears and tried not to listen to their cries.

His hands had been bound again before he and the others had been loaded onto the ship, by someone other than Ragnar, and he wondered if Ragnar would’ve bound his hands. He figured he probably wouldn't have, though he wasn’t sure why. In fact, Athelstan was beginning to wonder if he was crazy for putting trust into a man who not only had he just met, but who was also kidnapping him and taking him away from England. And all because of a tattoo. It seemed insane, and yet he believed it. 

It was the second evening that the rain started. It was light at first, but soon enough it was coming down hard enough that someone lowered the sail and threw the tarp over to keep everyone as dry as possible. And still the rain persisted. The wind was strong, too strong to leave the sail up, and strong enough to still toss the boat about. Brother Symon, who was the only one to not abandon Athelstan despite everything, gave him a worried look. 

“I feel sick,” he said meekly, hands pressed to his stomach as if it was going to help. Athelstan glanced around quickly. They were nowhere near the side of the boat, nor was there a bucket anywhere near them. He frowned and turned back to his friend.

“Keep it in,” he muttered quietly, “Or something. But don’t try and get to the edge. Don’t even stand. The water is too rough for that. You’ll fall.” He placed a hand on Symon’s knee comfortingly. “I’m sorry,” he added. “I understand.”

Symon nodded and clenched his jaw. But a moment later he shook his head. “I can’t, Athelstan.” And with that, he stumbled to his feet, jostling five others in the process. They barely looked up. “Lord protect me,” he murmured, and began picking his way to the side. 

“Brother Symon!” Athelstan called, leaning forward as if he could pull back his friend with his mind. “Symon! Come back!” But he did not. So Athelstan curled up, watching his friend shuffle along. Each time the boat lurched and Brother Symon with it, so did Athelstan’s heart. And yet he stayed upright. He knelt at the edge of the ship, grabbing onto the side tightly until his knuckles were white, and Athelstan dared to breathe again. He had made it, he was going to be fine. 

And then the waters churned again, and the boat was tilted violently sideways. Athelstan watched in horror as everything seemed to move in slow motion. Brother Symon was launched forward, and Athelstan was just able to catch the look of surprise on his face before he was flipping over the side of the ship and into the freezing water. 

The splash and muffled scream was loud enough to wake the dead- and Athelstan had been wondering if some of the others were dead- for heads popped up all across the ship, eyes wide and frightened, voices raising all at once. And Athelstan could only stare. He watched as cautious faces peered over the edge, trying to find the body of Brother Symon in the raging water below. And then all at once he came to life. He began shouting at the top of his lungs, calling out Symon’s name, or perhaps praying to God. Even he wasn’t entirely sure which. All he knew was that he had leapt to his feet, and he too was stumbling his way through the other Brothers, trying to get to Symon, he had to, he had too… and when the ship lurched again, he barely registered anything except that he was falling, falling forward, and his hands were bound and he couldn’t reach out, and he was going to die like Brother Symon had…

And before he realized what was happening, two strong arms were reaching around his torso, grabbing hold of him, keeping him from falling forward to his death. When he had been steadied on his feet, his eyes fluttered shut, and he felt himself tipping, backwards this time, and he sagged into the arms of whoever caught him.

A few moments later, he was sitting on the deck, away from the others, and facing Ragnar, who sat crosslegged and gave him a concerned look. His large hands rested on his shoulders. “Athelstan,” Ragnar said quietly, staring at him with his bright blue eyes. “Are you alright?” And Athelstan would’ve loved to say that of course he was alright, but how could he lie to those eyes? So he simply shook his head. Another voice spoke, and Athelstan looked up. Standing behind Ragnar was another Norseman, whom he had only seen, but never spoken to. He was tall, and much thinner than the others. He was balding; the hair he did have was light and wispy. His face alone was terrifying, what looked to Athelstan like war paint was streaked under his eyes. 

“What has happened?” the man asked, and Athelstan shivered. He even sounded crazy. Ragnar simply shook his head, waving his hand nonchalantly at him.

“We lost another one, Floki,” Ragnar replied, sounding… defeated, although that wasn’t a word Athelstan would’ve used to describe him normally. “I think Athelstan here took a fright to it, is all. I’ll make sure he settles down.” The man, Floki, said nothing. “Those were some strong winds, but I think they’re over now. Why don’t you check to see if we can raise the sail again?” Floki huffed, and crossed his arms. He turned and walked away, but not before shooting Athelstan a look of daggers that Ragnar couldn’t see.

Once Floki was out of earshot, Athelstan looked back at Ragnar. “You’ll see that I settle down?” he asked, someone indignantly. Ragnar shook his head. 

“You’ll have to excuse Floki. He’s always like that, nothing to do with you. He’s been sore with me this whole trip. Don’t know why.” He shrugged. “But tell me, Athelstan, will you be alright? I know you aren’t now. But will you feel better? I can probably spare you an extra helping of soup, and early supper, if you’d like.” At the mention of food, Athelstan was suddenly aware of how much his stomach was rumbling. And yet he shook his head.

“Don’t bother with me,” he answered solemnly. “I’ll be fine. Do not waste your food.” He glanced down at his lap, and did not meet Ragnar’s blue eyes again. He was surprised when he felt a firm hand on his chin, tilting his face up. Athelstan was blatantly conscious of Ragnar’s tattoo on his wrist, glaring up at him. He pulled away quickly, but kept his eyes locked with Ragnar’s. 

“You’re in shock,” the Norseman said simply. “You need something warm, and soup will do the trick. I remember, when I was a boy, I fell into a small pool of ice cold water in the wintertime, and by the time by father pulled me out, I had gone into shock, and wouldn’t stop shaking, like you are now. And it wasn’t just from the cold water. My mother had to wrap me in furs until I had settled. Now, I can’t get you a warm fur, but I can bring you extra soup. It’s your choice, I’m not going to force you to have it. But I’d strongly recommend it.” He crossed his arms, and gave Athelstan another concerned look. “So what do you say?”

And what was he to say, after that? Well, there were dozens of things, he supposed, but all he did was nod, as well as say, “Yes. Thank you.” And Ragnar nodded, looking more relaxed, and stood. 

“Can I bring you anything else?” he asked, and Athelstan shook his head. The man smiled, but before going, he squatted down and untied Athelstan’s hands again. “Breathe,” he said firmly, and smiled briefly before walking odd. 

Athelstan’s thoughts buzzed around his head like bees. Brother Symon… Falling… Ragnar catching him… Floki’s death glare, Ragnar’s tattoo, the soup… and his words: “It’s your choice, I’m not going to force you to have it.” Athelstan groaned and buried his face in his arms, head throbbing. Who knows how long he sat like that, and only unraveled himself when he head the sound of a bowl of soup being placed loudly on the deck in front of him. He looked up quickly, but the person had gone. Glancing around to make sure the judgemental gaze of Floki or any of the Brothers wasn’t upon him, Athelstan picked up the bowl and spoon, and ate the soup hungrily. He barely breathed until it was empty, and although his stomach grumbled for more, it was still a bigger helping than he ever got at the monastery, and he chided himself on such gluttony. Just because he was probably leaving his life as a monk forever didn’t mean he could start committing any sins. So he placed the bowl back down and shoved it aside, before leaning back against a bench and closed his eyes.

Athelstan had probably fallen asleep, because the next time he blinked, he found himself face to face with Floki, who looked as if he had been sitting there for a while. Needless to say, he jumped, just a bit (or perhaps it was almost comic, how much he jumped), and did the Sign of the Cross rapidly, squeezing his eyes shut and praying under his breath. When he opened them again, Floki was still there, a wide grin on his face and waving. Athelstan would’ve called his expression cheerful if it weren’t for the glint in Floki’s eyes that told him this was far from a friendly greeting. 

“So,” he said, and Athelstan noted that the man sounded like he would imagine a snake sounding, if they could talk. It wouldn’t have surprised him if this man was part snake. His voice was a hiss, charming and deadly at the same time. And Athelstan was afraid. 

“How is Ragnar’s pet doing?” There it was, that hiss. The s sound was even suspended. “Did you enjoy your meal, Priest?” And Athelstan cringed at the word coming from Floki’s mouth. 

“I appreciated the soup very much,” he replied stiffly. He made no effort to comment on being called ‘Ragnar’s pet’. It wasn’t worth his energy, although the title stung. Floki was still giving Athelstan a look of distrust, and he cringed, despite himself.

“Look,” Floki said after a minute. “Enough with the show. Let’s be honest, neither of us are happy about this situation, yes?” Athelstan could only nod, not entirely sure where this was going. “I don’t know what Ragnar’s fascination with you is, and I could hardly care less. However, it seems to be more than just an interest in how you speak this language. But I’m not going to pry.” He smiled, and it was a twisted grin that sent a shiver up Athelstan’s spine. “Just don’t get in the way. I don’t know what Ragnar thinks he’s doing, but I don’t want you involved. Just keep away from him, do you hear me?”

And as terrifying as Floki may have been, Athelstan raised his chin defiantly. “And what if I don’t?” He didn’t know what he was doing; he had no room to challenge the Norseman like this, or to try and hold his own.

The sly grin was back. “I could skin you alive,” Floki mused, “But I doubt Ragnar would take kindly to that.” And then without another word, he stood, and walked off, leaving Athelstan sitting alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed chapter three! Un-beata'd as always. I do have a basic plot outline for the next few chapters, but any suggestions are still more than welcome. Last chapter, I mentioned that I was going to try and figure out a regular posting schedule. I'm going to aim for Mondays and Fridays. We'll see how that goes. Don't forget to leave me a comment, or come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.kylescatliffe.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ships arrive back at Kattegat and Ragnar claims his new slave.

The rest of the journey to Kattegat was quite uneventful, which Ragnar was grateful for. It seemed that the Christians had finally understood that if they went too close to the edge of the ship, they would surely be cast into the water and drown. There were no more deaths- Ragnar had a feeling that the last one had frightened them into obedience. And he hardly cared. Whatever would make them cooperate. 

The arrival was quite the opposite, however. Everyone was very pleased to see the raiders return home safely, especially since they had disappeared so suddenly. In the back of his mind, Ragnar was already preparing himself for the inevitable conversation he would be having with Earl Haraldson in the near future. But for the moment, he was content to bask in the glory of returning from the first raid to the west successfully. 

Lagertha had been the first to greet him, Bjorn and Gyda right behind. He greeted his family warmly, all thoughts of Athelstan behind him. However, the celebration did not last long. Once the ships had been unloaded and they gathering had been moved into the hall, Earl Haralson stood. 

“We are very pleased that your raid has returned safely, and with such treasures.” His words were forced, that much was obvious, but Ragnar recognized the genuine smile. And that worried him. “Ragnar Lothbrok, you have done us a wonderful deed,” the Earl continued. “You have brought us back great treasures.” The smile held fast as he continued. “And I will be taking them all.” At this, Ragnar leapt to his feet, enraged. 

“You can’t do that! What I brought, I brought to share!” But the Earl shook his head. 

“Sit down, Ragnar Lothbrok,” he growled. “I am very grateful for what you have done. However, you also went against my orders. You are in no position to be argumentative.” Ragnar was going to protest again, but a glare from Lagertha made him sit down abruptly. “However,” the Earl continued, “I will let each of you take one thing.” 

There were murmurs from the crowd, but most people nodded in agreement and the Earl looked satisfied. 

“Father,” Bjorn said, tugging on Ragnar’s sleeve. “Will you bring home gold?” 

“Or jewels?” Gyda added excitedly. Ragnar patted them both on the head.

“Hush,” he said fondly, and walked up to the Earl. 

“Well, Ragnar Lothbrok. What will it be? Perhaps one of these strange artifacts?” He pointed to some of the crosses they had discovered in the Monastery. “Or maybe gold, as your son suggested?” The Earl looked amused, but Ragnar shook his head.

“I’d like the priest,” he said plainly. 

“What?” That was the earl, but Ragnar could’ve sworn he heard Lagertha, Rollo, and Floki echoing that from elsewhere in the room. But he didn’t care. 

“The priest,” he repeated, voice a bit firmer. The earl shrugged, laughing.

“Granted,” he replied, waving his hand, and seeming slightly confused. Frustrated, but pleased that he had gotten his wish, Ragnar walked away, past his family who were shouting questions at him a mile a minute.

He hurried over to where the captured slaves were and said, “Athelstan. Come here.” After a moment of shuffling, Athelstan got to his feet and walked to Ragnar. There was already a rope around his neck, and Ragnar grabbed it, but held it limply. “You’re coming home with my family and I.” Athelstan blinked, but to his credit didn’t ask questions. He simply bowed his head and followed Ragnar, letting himself be lead by the rope. The curious gazes of Lagertha and the children followed him all the way to the farm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all I'd like to apologize for the lateness of this chapter. Between being busy, and having horrid writers block, I simply couldn't get it written. I had about 50 words Friday morning. Not good.  
> I also apologize for the shortness here. I was going to write more, but I wouldn't have been able to finish it today if I did, and I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer. I also realized that the rest I had planned for this chapter would be much better from Athelstan's perspective.  
> ALSO- I think this was a lesson that I can't do two updates a week. Finals are coming up in two weeks and that's going to mean less writing time as well. Plus, I'm participating in the Les Mis Big Bang, which will be taking up a lot of my time this summer. If anyone wants to know more about that, let me know! Anyway, my new plan is to try and update every Sunday night because that seems to work well, and if I have a new chapter done, I will post it on Thursdays, with the understanding that the following one may not be up on Sunday. But it may be.  
> This is getting longer than the chapter, so I'll leave you at that. 
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments, and come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.kylescatliffe.tumblr.com)!  
> *****THE EPILOGUE (next chapter) HAS SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 EPISODE 6*****


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *SPOILERS for season 3 episode 6*

Ragnar Lothbrok couldn’t remember the first time he took note of the tattoo on the underside of his wrist. But he could remember the first time he found Athelstan, cowering on the floor of the convent. He remembered it now, as he carried his body up the hill, as well as he remembered seeing him lying dead just hours before on the floor of his house. 

Which he still refused to believe had happened.

How dare Athelstan leave him now- after everything that had happened, after Ragnar had put his faith in him, after telling him he _loved_ him.

It just wasn’t fair.

He had been the only one to see Athelstan’s body, and it was going to stay that way, which was why he was taking him far away. In Ragnar’s eyes, Athelstan was a hero, but he knew no one else would see him that way. There had been no sign of a struggle. Only cold-blooded murder. Ragnar knew who did it; there was only one person it could be. 

Floki must’ve known he would get caught. He had to have known that Ragnar would punish him. Even have him executed. He knew what he was doing.

But Ragnar wasn’t going to do anything. Athelstan wouldn’t have wanted it, and Ragnar was determined to honor his memory. Ragnar was going to tell the others that Athelstan died in battle, defending the camp from an attacker on the outskirts of Kattegat. He was going to bury him out here, alone, because he didn’t want anyone to see the large gash in his forehead from Floki’s axe. Even he didn’t want to see it. It was too painful a reminder. 

“I love you,” Ragnar said again. He took comfort in the fact that Athelstan had heard him say it, and more so when he realized that those had been his last words to him. Athelstan hadn’t said it back, but he didn’t have to. Ragnar knew, and had known for a long time. Sometimes the silent words are worth more than the spoken.

He opened the cloth he had wrapped Athelstan’s body in, and cut away the fabric of his shirt, eyes fixing on the words scrawled there. Then his gaze flickered to his own tattoo. _I wish…_

But wishing wasn’t going to bring Athelstan back, and Ragnar knew that. 

He had never expected this soulmate business to be easy.

But it sure was easier with Athelstan there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm so sorry that this took me basically 10 months to finish. I lost inspiration on this piece for a while, and then didn't have time. But season three, as well as your comments and feedback pushed me to at least give some sort of conclusion to this. I'm sorry it wasn't more, but needed to get it done, so I banged this out in history class. Besides, I felt like with the current events in the show, covering the time period in between chapter four and the epilogue wouldn't have a good effect.
> 
> So thank you to everyone who has followed this story this past year. I'll definitely be writing more Vikings fic in the future, although I don't know when yet. Let me know in the comments what you want to see. I'd consider writing more of this AU and covering specific events that this story skipped over, but I wanted to bring this one to a close. 
> 
> Thank you guys, and don't forget to come say hi on [tumblr](http://kylescatliffe.tumblr.com)!


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